


Pretty Boy

by bjfic_archivist



Category: Queer as Folk (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Canon, Points of View
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2003-07-26
Updated: 2003-07-29
Packaged: 2018-12-27 13:06:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,944
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12081624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bjfic_archivist/pseuds/bjfic_archivist
Summary: The series will follow the thread of the movie Pretty Woman. Basically Brian is Richard Gere and Justin is Julia Roberts.Thanks to Becca for the plot bunny and to my beta Happy.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from IrishCaelan, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Brian_Justin_Fanfiction_Archive). To preserve the archive, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in September 2017. I posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [The Brian/Justin Fanfiction Archive collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/bjfic/profile).

BRIAN’S POV

 

I glance at my watch for the tenth time in the last couple of minutes, not even trying to hide the fact that the woman I’m chatting with is completely uninteresting. I’m getting seriously bored. It’s almost 1am and the time change has really exhausted me. I just want to get back to the hotel and sleep a few hours. I scrutinize the room, searching for Vance. But the man is nowhere in sight. I finally spot him at the buffet, flirting with a blond haired woman. Funny, Vance isn’t really the good looking type and women are all over him. I guess it’s the money. Us queers aren’t so complicated. Money… who gives a fuck? A 9 inch cock will do the trick.

I consider going over to the buffet to warn him I’m leaving, but he’ll probably tear me another asshole and I’m too tired to argue with anyone. I just discreetly leave the party, failing to say goodbye to anyone, handing my car keys to the porter so that he’ll fetch the Corvette I rented at the airport. I haven’t got a clue how I’m going to find my way back to the hotel. I’ve never been to Los Angeles before and the city is a labyrinth to me. But I figure I can always ask someone for directions if I really get lost. I’m staying at the Regent Beverly Wilshire, a very well known hotel in Beverly Hills. It shouldn’t be that hard to find.

After driving in circles for almost half an hour, I finally admit that I’m completely lost. And I tell you, I had to pass in front of the same grocery store a half a dozen times to finally admit it. I hate losing control, especially when driving, and I hate even more being lost in a city I don’t know. I glance at the street sign above my head and read ‘Hollywood Boulevard’. Well at least I know where I am, but that isn’t going to help me find my way back to the hotel. I silently consider my options: I could call Vance and ask him for directions, but then I’d have to explain why I left the party in the first place and I’m not ready to endure an hour long lecture, or I could ask one of the passersby for help. I glance at the so-called passersby - the boulevard is populated with hustlers and pimps. I take it upon myself to stop even with two kids and open my window.

JUSTIN’S POV

Hunter and I both glance at the Corvette speeding towards us. Hunter winks at me and I know what he means. ‘Ding Ding Ding, Jackpot!’ If one of us manages to pick up the guy driving it, this month’s rent won’t be an issue and Carlos won’t have any reason to beat the shit out of us. Not that he really needs one anyway. But I’m skeptical. 

“He’s not gonna want us. Guys driving Corvettes don’t pick up guys like us.”

“Shut the fuck up” whispers Hunter.

When the Corvette stops even with us, Hunter gives me one of his “See I told you” looks. God that kid can be so annoying, but he’s also my only friend around here, and frankly without him I don’t know where I’d be. 

“Don't take less than a hundred. You look hot tonight. And remember, don't mouth off. They don't like that” he instructs me.

Hunter walks away after giving me a thumb up, leaving me standing in front of the Corvette alone. A chestnut-haired man pops his head out of the Corvette.   
“Excuse me,” he begins politely.

A switch goes on in my head the moment I turn back to face him. I’m in hustler mode now, nothing can hurt me, no one can hurt me. I feel nothing. It’s the only way to survive out here. All the guys that say you can are bullshitting. You never get used to it. You just learn to block the feelings out of your mind. I throw my shoulders back, thrust my ass out a little and sashay towards the car, a sexy, friendly smile on my face. The show has begun.

“Hey Sugar, you lookin' for a date?” I purr.

“What's that?” he asks, wrinkling his nose in confusion.

“You looking' for some company?” I repeat.

“Uh, no. How do I get to Beverly Hills?”

“What? You gonna tell me you're lost?” 

“Yes,” he says sheepishly.

“Great. What do I look like, a tour guide?” I demand.

“No, you look like a hustler,” he says, deadpan.

“Actually, I'm a movie star out for a walk,” I toss back at him.

“Good. Can you fucking tell me how to get to Beverly Hills?”

“Sure. For five bucks.”

“That's ridiculous,” he says incredulously.

“The price just went up to ten,” I say in a bored tone.

“Why don't you just do it out of the kindness of your heart?” he says in a sweet voice.

I just answer that remark with a smirk. Frankly, it’s so naïve it’s funny. After three years of peddling my ass I doubt my heart has any kindness left. The guy probably doesn’t fuck a lot of hustlers. He finally pulls out his money clip and hands me a 20 dollar bill. I’m about to explain him how to get to Beverly Hills when I suddenly freeze. My pimp Carlos is standing on the pavement on the other side of the road staring at me, wearing that look that says “I’m gonna kick your ass so hard you won’t be able to work for a week.” Panic spreads though out my body. If I don’t pick up this guy right away, I’m going to be in serious trouble. I open the door of the car and jump in.

“For twenty, I’ll show you personal. Turn around, Beverly Hills is on the other side.”

I let out a sigh of relief when I see Carlos’s silhouette getting smaller as the car speeds up Hollywood Boulevard. I inspect the interior of the car and sink further into the leather seats.

“Nice car. Yours?” I ask.

“No” he replies shortly.

“Stolen?” I quip.

“Not exactly.”

“You're not from L.A., huh?” I try again.

“Pittsburgh.”

“What’s a guy like you doing in Pittsburgh?” I ask in disbelief.

“Nothing, that’s the problem” he wryly replies.

“So what Motel are you staying at?”

“Hotel” he corrects me.

“Ok, what hotel?”

“The Regent Beverly Wilshire.”

“Mind if I smoke?” I query

“No, go ahead,” he says graciously.

 

BRIAN’S POV

As he fumbles though his pockets to find a cigarette, I pay closer attention to the boy. He’s pretty attractive. Sure, his clothes are filthy and he desperately needs a new haircut but he has stunning blue eyes, an amazing smile and from what I’ve seen a pretty good body. What has led a boy of this age to hustling? Suddenly I feel the urge to know more about this kid, about his life.

“What's your name?” I ask.

“What do you want it to be?” he replies coyly.

I don’t even answer that question; I just stare, letting him know to cut the bullshit.

“Okay, Okay! My name’s Justin.”

“You like being a hustler, Justin?”

“It pays.”

“So do day jobs.”

“Turn right,” he says, cutting me off.

Okay, he’s obviously avoiding the subject. But I’m not ready to let it go yet. Something about this kid intrigues me.

“Must be dangerous. You know hustling.”

“Tell me about it. L.A. is suffering from a wacko epidemic. And who knows where half the guys I pick up have been. I mean, I use condoms. Always. And I get checked out once a month at the free clinic. Not only am I better in the sack than an amateur, I'm probably safer.”

“Very good. You ought to have that printed up on your business card,” I say with a smile.

“If you're making fun of me, I don't like it,” he pouts.

I just smirk back at him, letting him know not to be offended.

 

JUSTIN’S POV

Fuck, until he smiled at me I hadn’t realized how good looking he was. He has these amazing hazel eyes but with touches of gold inside. Definitely the kind of guy I would have hit on, before…well before I started hustling. If I didn’t think Carlos would seriously kick my ass, I’d probably let him fuck me for free. Maybe make me remember what it feels like to be held by a man, a good looking man. Someone I actually like, not some old fat middle aged guy. Imagining his hands on me, makes my whole body shiver with anticipation. For once, I just want to get away from this shit, to imagine I’m just some normal kid going to school, hanging out with his friends, getting laid…not for money. But I can’t afford to lose a whole night’s earnings; we need the money too much. I just hope this guy is at least going to want to fuck me, because otherwise I’ll have to go back on the streets and find someone else.

When we finally arrive in front of the Regent Beverly Wilshire, we both sit silently for a few seconds, not really knowing what to do. These few seconds of reflection make me realize that he fucking doesn’t need to pay for sex. I mean, I’d probably pay him if I could afford it, why would he want to be with me? I’m just some stupid kid that doesn’t know shit. Why would a guy like him want to be with a guy like me? No need to make this more embarrassing that it already is. I open the door to get out, trying not to seem disappointed but suddenly he grabs my arm. 

“What do you charge for company, Justin?”

 

BRIAN’S POV

Okay, I had definitely not planned to fuck someone tonight, especially not a hustler but the kid is hot and I would go to sleep more easily if I got my dick sucked. There’s something in this kid’s eyes that makes feel you sorry for him. I mean you always feel sorry for hustlers, especially when they’re so young but usually they’ve been doing it for so long the pain and the sorrow is buried deep inside them, where you can’t see it. But even though he tries to act all tough and cocky, you can read so much raw pain in these blue eyes that the sight is almost unbearable. It just makes you want to hold him in your arms all night long.

And it would definitely not be a charity fuck. The kid’s hot. But I don’t usually do hustlers. I like the guys I’m fucking to enjoy themselves, to feel pleasure but I know that no matter how good you are in the sack, hustlers only fuck you because they fucking need the money. So my next question surprises even me.

“What do you charge for company, Justin?”

“Company would cost you... five hundred dollars,” he begins.

“For the whole night?” 

“For an hour.”

“You're joking?” I ask in disbelief. I mean okay, the kid is kind of cute, and he is young which is a definite benefit when you’re a hustler, but $500 dollars an hour is an insane amount. 

“I never joke about money,” he states shortly.

“Neither do I,” I reply in turn. “Five hundred bucks an hour though. That's pretty stiff.”

He reaches across my seat and grabs my cock through my suit. “No, but it's definitely getting there.”

I feel my cock jump at the touch. The kid’s got me now, and he knows it. I’ll pay anything to fuck him.

“So Justin, how much to put up with me for the entire night?” I’m kind of too tired tonight for more than a quick fuck, but I definitely want this kid around tomorrow morning before I go to work.

“You couldn't afford it,” he states airily.

“Try me,” I grin, giving him my best Kinney smile.

“A thousand,” he says nervously.

“Fine” I reply nonchalantly.

“What’s your name, lover?” he purrs.

“Brian, my name is Brian.”

 

JUSTIN’S POV

He grabs me by the waist as we walk through the hotel lobby and I feel incredibly embarrassed. I mean, the scene here is pretty obvious. And although I’ve been a hustler for what… already 3 years... fuck, I still can’t stand people judging me. But Brian seems perfectly at ease, raising him even higher in my esteem, which I didn’t think was possible. He doesn’t seem to give a shit that people are staring at us and gossiping.

“Don’t you mind?” I ask him.

“What?” he replies absently.

I nod towards the old couple staring a few feet away from us in the elevator.

“Who gives a fuck?” he smirks.

He shoves me against the wall and kisses me hard under the shocked glare of the couple. When the elevator finally stops at our floor, Brian grabs me by the waist and we exit the elevator, laughing our heads off.

“Did you see their faces?” I’m laughing so hard, I can hardly speak. We step into Brian’s suite and I start undressing, but Brian stops me and picks up the phone.

“Room service?” He covers the mouthpiece with his hand. “What do you want to drink?”

“Diet coke.”

“Send up a bottle of Cristal champagne,” he instucts the person on the phone.

“Can I have some chips?” I ask.

“….and a bowl of strawberries. Thank you,” he finishes, hanging up the phone.

I glance back at Brian who is sitting in a comfortable leather chair. I’m pretty impressed. I mean I’ve seen a lot of hotel rooms, but this one is very luxurious. But I don’t want to wander around too long, observing the fine Italian furniture. I’ve got work to do. Let’s not pretend this is something it’s not, let’s not pretend I’m something I’m not…

“Well, now that you have me for the night, what are you going to do with me? I mean, the meter's running, it's your money. Speaking of which, cash'll do. In advance,” I say in a businesslike tone.

“Fair enough,” he replies in kind.

He takes out his wallet and tosses a wad on the coffee table. I quickly count the bills, but I doubt he’d try to swindle me. He doesn’t really seem the type. I lean forward and reach out to unzip his pants, but he abruptly turns away. What the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Let's talk some more first,” he says.

 

BRIAN’S POV

What the fuck is wrong with me? I wanna talk instead of fuck? I must have hit my head at some point. But deep inside I know it’s the whole hustler thing that’s making me uneasy. I know it’s ridiculous, but for a couple of hours, I want to make him forget all this shit. Wanna make him want me, let him know that he can still feel things: lust, pleasure. That it’s not too late, that money hasn’t corrupted it all yet. He’s obviously not getting what I’m trying to do.

“Jesus, you act like you're seducing some club boy you picked up in a bar. You know, I’m a pretty loose guy. Even if we skip the chit chat, I’ll probably let you fuck me, I’m pretty loose” he says impertinently.

I smirk at his sarcastic remark. Okay, he’s definitely not getting what I’m trying to do. But I’ll make him understand another way. I shove him against the bedroom wall, holding his hands above his head and I sniff his sweet youthful scent. I bring my lips closer to his face and place wet kisses all over his neck and jaw, getting closer to his lips. I feel him tense, and I know what he’s going to say. I can’t kiss him on the lips. He only let me kiss him in the elevator because I caught him by surprise. Most hookers don’t let their clients kiss them. But I don’t want to be just a client, I want him to be grateful to have the chance to fuck Brian Kinney, just like all the others were.

“Wait, not on the…” he says breathlessly.

I don’t give him the chance to actually pronounce the words; instead I crush my lips against his in a furious embrace. I dart my tongue a little against his lips, silently asking for permission into his mouth. He lets out this unreal groan as my tongue explores the insides of his cheeks. Our tongues battle for supremacy inside our joined mouths and I feel his body melt in my arms. I slightly part his legs and rub my knee against his crotch. God, he’s already so hard. 

I know I said I was tired a few minutes ago, but all signs of fatigue seem to have magically disappeared. This fucking kid is making me so horny. He tries to break out of our embrace, trying to get back to a situation he is familiar with - him in control, leading the game. But I won’t let him; first, I’m going to make him come so hard he forgets his name. I undress him slowly, removing his worn out T-shirt and pulling down his jeans. Funny, like this he looks like just another kid, a normal teenager. I wonder when he stopped being a normal teenager. And also why?

I kiss my way down to his belly and notice bruises on his thighs. I turn him around and see that the bruises continue on his back. He also has several marks that look like cigarette burns. Someone is using him as a fucking ashtray. I kiss the burns to let him know I saw them but don’t make any remarks. It would probably just freak him out even more. As I stroke his still-covered dick through the soft material of his briefs, he lets out a needy moan. I yank down his underwear and finally he is naked. Oh, my God. He was already stunning fully dressed, but naked he is unbelievable…

I stare at him a few minutes making him very uncomfortable but knowing that it’s also a turn on. I place my hands on his ass and bring our bodies closer, relishing the feel of his hard-on against my Armani covered dick. I drag him towards the king sized bed and push him against it, making him fall onto the firm mattress. His body bounces a little and we both let out a chuckle. He sits up on the bed waiting for me to do the next move.

I ask him “You want me to strip for you?”

“You? … For me? Fuck, yeah!” he says enthusiastically.

The role reversal probably seems ironic since I’m the one paying for this fuck and it’s turning out to be all for him. But I don’t care, tonight is about making him want me, crave me, so I’ll just satisfy my needs and his simultaneously without overanalyzing it.

He’s sitting on the bed, his pink tongue darting unconsciously in and out of his mouth, his cock hard as steel and those mysterious blue eyes staring at me. You can read everything this kid is thinking and feeling in those eyes. He must be a pretty poor liar. And although an hour ago, I read pain and sorrow in those eyes, those feelings have been replaced with ones of lust and carnal desire. He’s completely forgotten how and in what circumstances he ended up here, and I’m glad to be able to offer him these few hours of pleasure, of denial…

I seductively unbutton my suit and throw the jacket on a nearby chair. Then I torture him a little longer slowly unbuttoning the buttons of my Armani silk shirt. He stands up a little wanting to help undress me, but I use my bare foot to push him back onto the bed.

“Shhh… You can look, but you can’t touch,” I tease him.

He just laughs, probably thinking I’m crazy. Well it is a very fucked up situation. But I just don’t want to be the only one enjoying it. Is that so weird? I sway my hips a little and step out of my pants. His eyes are staring at the tent in my briefs, probably wanting to rip the material off with his teeth. He sits up once more, but this time I let him approach me. Still unable to take his eyes away from my covered cock, he kneels in front of me, yanks my briefs to the ground and buries his face in my pubic hair. He doesn’t touch my dick or anything, just lets me savoring the feeling of his warm breath on my dick. He licks the inside of my thighs for what seems like hours, then spreads my legs wider and takes my balls in his mouth. He gently nibbles on the sensitive skin sending dual feelings of pain/ pleasure through out my body. God, this kid is good… I’m already about to cum all over the place and he hasn’t even touched my dick yet.

Finally he releases my balls from the warmth and wetness of his mouth and directs his mouth towards the tip of my dick. He slowly runs his wet tongue over the tip of my shaft, making by whole body buck from the sensation. He opens his mouth wide, causing my heart to pound faster from the expectation of what is about to come. Just before engulfing my entire dick in his mouth, he glances up at me. 

I force my eyes open to look at him, grinning like an idiot. It’s a well known fact that men cannot use both the big head and the little one at the same time. At that instant I am living proof of that theory. Suddenly the wet sensation of his mouth around my dick sends me to some kind of a parallel universe. He’s not making any movements for the moment, just shoving my dick as far as he can down his throat. No gag reflex… that’s another thing he can put on his business card. He moves his lips slowly up and down my shaft, trying to delay my cumming as much as possible, trying to make me enjoy this for as long as I can. And I’m trying so hard not to cum, trying to focus on things that turn me off... like lesbians going down on each other, or Mikey naked… but the movements of his tongue on the underside of my cock and the sensation of the tip of my dick tapping against the back of his throat is making it so hard. For the moment that little sensation is all I can feel, all I can hear - Tap, Tap, Tap… Suddenly he swallows, his whole throat closing in on the tip of my shaft. I try not to come and manage to hold on a few more seconds, until he does it again and again and again. My cock jerks a few times and I shoot a first gush of cum, then a second and finally a third down his throat. Fuck, I’ve had thousands of blowjobs in my life, but seriously I think this was the best oral sex I’ve ever experienced. I haven’t cum that hard in years. Justin is still on his knees, licking the few drops of cum left on my dick. I grab him under the arms and lift him up to my level. 

“Fuck, that was… amazing,” I say breathlessly.

“You liked it? It was to thank you for...” he breaks off shyly.

I don’t let him finish his sentence. I know what he means. He’s thanking me for not treating him like a hustler. He’s thanking for me treating him like a man, a normal man. I crush his lips with mine, savoring this treat I’m the only one to receive. I just came a few seconds ago, but my dick has already regained a semi-erect state. Justin looks down at my dick and chuckles. I throw him on the bed, place his legs on my shoulders and position myself. But before I can get to the highlight of the show he grabs my shoulder, a concerned look spreading across his face.

“Wait, if you’re going to fuck me you need to use a condom. I won’t do bareback… even with you.”

“Oh, don’t worry, I’m not going to fuck you… well, not yet,” I growl. “Instead, you’re going to get the best rim job of your life.”

JUSTIN’S POV

He’s going to do what? I can’t even remember the last time someone rimmed me. Oh yes, it was before... It’s funny how everything with him reminds me of before. I know he’s one of those guys who can’t get off unless they think you’re enjoying yourself, but the weird thing here is that I actually am. Usually with those guys, I just moan and whimper a bit louder, but with Brian my moans, my cries of pleasure are genuine. I feel like I’ve awaken from a long sleep. After three years of peddling my ass I’d forgotten what it felt like, I had come to believe that what I did was the real thing. But it wasn’t. What I’m feeling right now as Brian’s tongue slides down my spine and rests in the crack of ass is real. Before was just bullshit. However, I am slightly concerned. Once I’ve experienced the taste of real, how do I go back to the substitute?

His hands have my cheeks parted and he is alternatively licking and blowing on my hole, causing me to buck my hips under his touch. He is greatly overestimating my ability to delay my release. My dick has been neglected all evening and I swear I don’t think I can hold it anymore. But he isn’t getting the message, or probably is intentionally not understanding.

“Briaaaaan…” I keen.

“Yep, everything ok up there?” he asks.

God, is this man always sarcastic even with his face shoved in my ass? “If you don’t do something, I think I’m going to come right now,” I moan.

“So much for self control, little boy,” he laughs.

“Well when you are involved, that word becomes suddenly unknown to me,” I sigh.

He smirks a little but lessens my torture by heading back to my ass. He spreads my legs even wider and suddenly shoves his wet tongue inside me. My ass lifts up in response to the sudden rush of emotions and for a moment the world goes black. I only feel his tongue thrusting in me at an alarming rate, hitting against all my sweet spots over and over. I’m so close, so fucking close but I don’t want to cum like this. I want to feel his dick inside me, want to feel him fill the void inside me. Even if it’s a lie, I want to believe just for tonight that everything will be alright, that I’m still the same little boy I was when I ran away from home, that nothing has changed. I try to whisper seductively in his ear, but it probably comes out more like a loud and needy cry.

“Fuck me!”

I grab a condom from the pocket of my jeans and roll it on his dick in a hurry. He enters me in one swift thrust and I feel like a virgin again, discovering the joys of butt-fucking. 

“Justin, Justin, Justin…” he chants as he stares into my eyes.

How long has it been since someone chanted my name while his dick was buried deep in my ass? I don’t usually give clients my real name, but something made me trust this hazel eyed stranger. And I’m glad I did, because the sound of his voice screaming my name at the top of his lungs is going straight to my dick, making me even harder. And I’m fucking glad I stood against that lamppost on Hollywood Boulevard, fucking glad he picked me up because I’ve never felt more alive in my life.

My cock is leaking profusely, trapped between our sweat covered bodies, screaming for attention. I wrap my hand around it and start jerking myself off, but Brian slaps my hand away. He pins my hands above my head, trying to move them as far away from my dick as possible. 

Then he holds his hand out to me, saying “I’ll do it. Here, make it wet.”

I take his palm in my hands and lick it, getting it as wet as possible. He wraps it around my throbbing member and starts pulling on. He runs his fingers across the piss slit, mixing my pre-cum with the spit already on his palm. I glance at his face and I can see he’s close too. I’ve seen so many men cum; you’d think I would be immune to the effects of it. But the huge groan he lets out releases the orgasm I’d been holding back. I feel the climax building up in my groin and finally releasing all over my chest and stomach. My whole body spasms and my hole clamps around the dick inside me, trying to push it out. But he only thrusts deeper and deeper inside me, until the contractions of my hole around his cock trigger his own orgasm and the condom fills up with his cum.

He collapses on top of me and this unfamiliar body on top of mine doesn’t feel as awkward as it usually does. On the contrary, his heart pounding against my chest feels incredibly right. He dozes off on top of me. Boy, he must have been really tired. I remove the discarded condom from his dick and toss it into the trash can. I roll him off me, pushing him towards the left side of the bed. Then I pull the blanket over his body and place a kiss on his forehead. I get up to pick up my clothes and fold them into a neat pile. Then I search the cupboards for an extra blanket. I wrap myself in the soft wool and lie down on the sofa. I don’t want to disturb him. Anyway, he’ll probably be fast asleep until tomorrow morning.

I try to drift to sleep, but although my eyes are sleepy I can’t manage to find oblivion. I lay awake blaming myself for being such a twat. How could I let this guy affect me like this? No, this was great, but it was a one time experience. Tomorrow I’ll pack my shit, forget all about this guy and go back to my life.

“What the fuck are you doing on the sofa?” he calls out groggily.

His voice makes me jump. I was lost in my thoughts and didn’t even realize he had awoken.

“Umm, most clients don’t want me to sleep with them so I thought I’d better crash on the sofa until you needed me again tomorrow,” I answer hesitantly.

“Well, I’m not most clients and I paid for a whole night, so get your ass back into this bed or I’ll have to spank you,” he commands me.

I smirk at him and we both burst out laughing.

“I’ll take note for next time but for the moment let’s sleep. You almost wore me out,” he yawns.

“Almost?” I ask sexily.

“Alright, I surrender. You definitely wore me out. Now let’s sleep,” he orders.

I climb onto the opposite side of the bed but Brian pulls me to him, letting my head rest on his chest. As I finally drift away to sleep, I hold him tight, dreading tomorrow because tomorrow I’ll have to let him go…forever…


	2. Pretty Boy

JUSTIN’S POV

 

Every night since I left home I wake up from a nightmare at 6 o’clock in the morning, my body sweating, my heart racing. The same nightmare, over and over, has been disrupting my sleep for almost 3 years now. When the nightmares first began after the bashing, I prayed every single night for them to stop. They kept me from sleeping, and I was so tired I could barely stand. But after many sleepless nights, I realized the nightmares would probably never stop and just learned to live with them. Sometimes my life is such a fucking mess that I can’t distinguish what is reality and what belongs to the nightmare. So when I wake up in a bed in a hotel room, safe and sound, I thank God I’m still alive and I wasn’t tossed in a dumpster by my last client. In this twisted world, the key to surviving is taking it one step at a time, being thankful for every day you’re still alive.

I glance at the clock on the TV set and read 6:15 am. I’m still pretty tired, but I won’t let myself fall back into sleep. I never let myself sleep late when I’m with a client. And this time is no exception. One night, no matter how spectacular, can overcome a habit of three years. As in animals, being asleep is a sign of vulnerability. Who knows what a client could do to you while you’re sleeping? I’ll try to catch a few winks later when I’m back at Hunter’s… I only really feel safe during those moments we spend together. I know he’s always looking out for me, and frankly it reassures me, knowing that I’m not completely alone. He is probably the only person worth saving in this pathetic thing I call my existence.

The day seems so fresh, so new before the sun rises. It seems like anything can be accomplished with just a bit of willpower. But three years of peddling my ass has taught me otherwise. Working on the streets has made me grow up much faster than I wanted. As much as I’d like to forget the lessons life has recently taught me, I know I can never be the innocent, clueless kid I was when I was at 16. My life has swirled out of control ever since the day I stood against that fucking lamppost. Three years later, after many deceptions, much hurt and pain, I’ve become realistic about life, about love. I know my life is what it is because I wasn’t strong enough to make it otherwise.

The first year or so, I tried to convince myself that hustling was just temporary, that it was only a transitory solution before I could finally find a job. But today I’ve accepted the obvious… that I will never have another life. This, the pain, the fear, is my life. There’s no point in trying to escape my fate. I’m here on the streets because I belong here. I’ve abandoned all hope of living another life.

But in these early hours, when the whole world is still sleeping, I lie in bed dreaming of how my life would have turned out if the circumstances had been different. If there had been someone to rely on, to support me through all the shit that I went through… my coming out, the bashing... I lay with my eyes closed, relishing these few last moments I can think about nothing, these few moments of freedom. These early minutes in the morning are my favorite part of the day. The day seems unsoiled, untainted by the shame...

I guess that’s what being a kid feels like. Feeling like everything has yet to be done, that the world has yet to be conquered. Right now that’s what this feels like… complete and unaltered freedom… and I won’t let anyone or anything take these precious moments away from me. These instants are the only things that keep me going, that prevent me from falling into the darkness. That’s why I would never use drugs. Even if it’s painful I want, I need to still be aware, to be in control of my existence. If I don’t take care of myself, then who will?

I’ll have tons of time later to worry about getting my ass kicked if I don’t make enough money or find new clients. Right now everything feels blank. As I lay asleep beside a client, these few minutes of denial keep me alive. It’s the only thing keeping me going these days. I need to feel that my life could have been different, that my dreams could have come true. That in some parallel existence I could have become something greater than a hustler. This morning I have the urge to imagine my life as an artist, to imagine my life after graduating from an art school. I imagine a famous art gallery in New York exhibiting my paintings. Very respectful people in the art scene, dressed up in tuxedos, are congratulating me for my work… Suddenly a familiar touch tears me away from my daydream and I feel a hand stroking my back, gently waking me up. I roll onto my stomach, pretty pissed off to have been disturbed but again, it’s my job. I can’t really complain.

Any complaints I had magically disappear at the sight of Brian staring at me, mouth open, eyes full of lust, his huge boner tenting the sheets. You’d expect that I’d be pissed to have been awakened from such an enjoyable daydream, but the sight that greets my eyes is much more pleasant. He is so fucking cute, with his tousled hair and his sleepy eyes… he seems to have been pulled out of one my wet dreams.

“What are you thinking about?” he questions me.

“What?” I ask clueless.

“You had a huge smile on your face and you were talking in your sleep. You were thanking someone for coming to your show.”

My face probably goes through half a dozen shades before settling for fiery red. I pathetically try to come up with an explanation, but my brain isn’t functioning. It’s too early in the morning and the cute man lying beside me is distracting me. I’d like to tell him what I was thinking… that I’ve dreamt of being an artist since I was a little boy, that I used to be pretty good before my hand was crippled… but I can’t let a client into my secret garden. He is, and always will be, a client, no matter how smart or handsome. Letting him in would be a mistake.

He’s still looking at me, probably expecting an answer, but I try to divert his attention by staring at his now fully erect cock. Fuck, this man is beautiful. He definitely has the looks but there’s something more than just plain beauty. Something radiates from him that seduces anyone, male or female. I wonder how long it’s been since I’ve slept with someone I thought was attractive. Too long… 

I’m going to make him feel so fucking good, he’s never going to forget me.

 

BRIAN’S POV

I open my eyes at around 6 am to the sight of this perfect angel sprawled across my bed, moaning incoherent phrases in his sleep. I move closer, trying to hear what he’s saying. He seems to be at a party, or rather an art show, where people seem to be admiring his work. He appears to be thanking people for coming to the show. So…. he wants to be an artist. Somehow, it doesn’t surprise me. He is definitely the artist type. There’s something mysterious, something intriguing about him and although I’ve never seen his work, I’m pretty sure he’s very talented. He seems so happy, so relaxed in his dream. It makes me want to hug him tight and tell him that dreams can come true. But doing that would probably only give him false expectations. I definitely know that life doesn’t always turn out the way we hoped it would.

But there’s something about this kid that tells me he’s worth so much more than all this. I wonder what could have happened to lead him here. He is lying on his stomach, and the sight of his ass barely covered by the sheets goes straight to my morning hard-on. A few more minutes of staring at his slender body and pale skin and I can’t wait to be inside him again. I’m usually pretty insatiable, but this is becoming ridiculous. I can’t seem to keep my hands off him. I try to keep my hands away from his perfect ass, but my body doesn’t seem to respond to me anymore. It’s as if my hands worked independently from my brain. I hate myself for waking him up from what seems to be very pleasant dream his dream, but I’ll take the chance he won’t be pissed.

Completely disoriented, he stares at me for a few seconds. I have a hard time deciding if he’s mad or not until his gaze locks on my hard-on. He reacts to my arousal with a huge smile that makes my heart (and my dick) swell. I lay on my back, waiting for him to make the next move. I figure that since I woke him up, I can at least let him choose how we will fuck. 

He straddles my hips and faces me, wearing one of those grins that say his mind is full of naughty thoughts. I can’t do anything but grin along like a perfect idiot. The look on his face makes my heart skip a beat. He slides down my thighs, sensually looking in my eyes but aiming his mouth straight at my dick, engulfing my entire shaft in one quick move. Although last night’s blow job was slow and languorous, this one is quick, needy and animalistic. He’s trying to make me come as quickly as possible. I try to slow him down, not wanting to come too soon, but the fast movements of his lips on my shaft are making it impossible for me to move, let along talk. So I just grip the head of the bed and enjoy the ride.

I force my eyes open, mesmerized by the sight of my dick going in and out of his mouth at an astonishing rate. Suddenly the sight of his blond tousled head going up and down on my dick and the delicious pressure of his full lips is too much for me to handle. I force my eyes away from the bewitching show and notice his impossibly hard dick rubbing against my thigh. Fuck, the kid is getting rock hard just by sucking my dick! I grab him by the waist and flip him over on his back. He stares at me open-mouthed, a look of disbelief on his face.

“Don’t want to come like this. I want to fuck you,” I manage to mumble.

I rummage through my drawer searching for a condom, and let out a sigh of relief when the tips of my fingers meet the cardboard box. His hands are roaming all over my body and getting dangerously close to my hard dick. I don’t think my cock can handle anymore attention or I’ll end up coming all over him. This kid needs to learn to lay back and enjoy. I hold his wrists above his head, spreading him with a knee. I place both his legs on top of my shoulders, choosing a position where I’m the one in control. His wrists escape my grasp and head towards my groin, but I manage to grab them again before they reach their final destination. 

“Stop that. Or I’ll have to tie you up,” I threaten.

 

JUSTIN’S POV

I manage to free my hands from his hold and instinctively try to stroke his dick, needing to make him feel half as good as he’s making me feel. But he stops me, a half serious look on his face.

“Stop that. Or I’ll have to tie you up.”

My cock twitches to the allusion and a dab of pre-cum leaks on my stomach. He notices my reaction to his threat and just chuckles. Bondage is one of the things I hate most with clients. It makes you so vulnerable, so dependant on the other. But with him everything’s different. With him I just want to roll onto my stomach and let him do anything he wants to me. I see that he wants me to stay still, so I lay on my back, my cock springing to attention, waiting for him to do something, anything… He’s torturing me, rubbing his rock hard dick on the inside of my thighs, between my ass cheeks, getting close to my twitching hole but never penetrating.

I buck my hips at him, trying to impale myself on his cock, but this position doesn’t allow me any kind of control and I have no other choice than to lay helpless at his mercy.

“For God’s sake, Brian! What do I have to do for you to fuck me?” I ask urgently. 

He just laughs at my desperate plea, than puts an end to my torture by suddenly plunging his wide cock into my ass as far as it can go. I gasp at the intense feelings flooding through my body. It hurts, but it’s a completely different type of pain that the one I usually experience. I guess he’s trying to teach me that pain can be part of the pleasure. And while my whole body fights against the intrusion, I find myself pushing back against his dick wanting more, wanting this man to go even further inside me.

“Oh, my God, Brian!” I scream out.

“Are you okay?” he questions me, suddenly slowing his thrusting.

“More! More…” I gasp out. I’m so out of breath I can’t even manage to form a coherent sentence. 

Reassured, he goes on with more spirit and determination than ever. He’s not even thrusting in and out anymore, just jabbing deeper and deeper inside me at every push. He’s torturing sweet spots I didn’t even know I had. Oh my God, how can a man I just met know my body so well? It’s as if our bodies were made to connect, to complement each other, as if the size of my ass perfectly fits his cock. His cock prods my prostate over and over as he stares at me, his piercing hazel eyes locked into mine. I feel my protective walls crashing one after the other as I experience more pleasure than I’ve ever experienced before. I’m sure he can see right through me. His eyes read in me like an open book. I hate being so vulnerable. My naivety has already caused me too much pain. I’ve learned my lesson; I won’t be fooled again.

I close my eyes and turn my head slightly to escape his piercing stare. Away from his gaze, I can try to refocus on what’s going on here. He’s a client, I’m a whore. I can’t let him know what I’m thinking, what I’m feeling for him.

 

BRIAN’S POV

Why does this kid always try to fucking escape? We were in perfect harmony, heartbeats synchronized, eyes locked and bodies connected. I felt so close to him. It was a feeling I’d never experienced before. It was more than my dick just buried in his ass; I felt that his whole body was finally opening up. And I could feel all the pain, all the deception, all the hurt. But it didn’t matter anymore because I felt I finally understood him. It felt as if my eyes explored beyond the barrier of flesh and reached beyond to his heart, to his soul. It was incredible, but he ruined it by closing his eyes and turning away. But I won’t let him. No, I won’t let him close his eyes and pretend nothing happened. I don’t care if it’s meant to last only for the night, if we don’t ever see each other again. I won’t let him treat me like another client. I certainly never considered him a hustler, so I won’t let him close his eyes on this, on us…  
I cup his chin firmly, causing him to open his blue eyes and lock onto my stare.

“Don’t ever turn away from me,” I warn him, still cupping his chin.

The way his eyes pop open even wider prove he understands my request. He keeps his eyes locked on mine, and I fuck him harder than I think I’ve ever fucked anyone, our bodies entwined, lost in each other’s eyes. I know I’ve been a trying fuck both physically and emotionally for him, and that he desperately needs to come. So I aim my hips at his swollen prostate and when his whole body jerks from the contact, I mentally congratulate myself. I’ve hit the jackpot.

I aim my hips at the same sweet spot again, only this time I hit faster, deeper. His head tips back, his jaw falls open and meaningless words flood out of his mouth. He tries to grip the head of the bed but I hold my hands out to him instead. He entwines his fingers with mine and squeezes my fingers harder and harder as the spasms of orgasm flood through his body. His whole body clamps around my dick, his hole both trying to expel my cock and to draw it deeper. The intense feeling of his hole massaging my shaft triggers my own orgasm, and as his cum spreads across his stomach, I release the flood of my orgasm into the condom. I collapse onto him, the weight of my body probably crushing him, but he doesn’t seem to mind. I roll off him and lay facing him, on my side.

He is so cute; naked, covered with cum, panting, and desperately trying to catch his breath. I try to fight sleep, but I know I have no chance of winning that battle. I take him in my arms, letting him rest in the crook of my neck and gently stroking his silky blond hair until I finally drift away, entwined in a blond angel’s arms. 

 

JUSTIN’S POV

As Brian drifts away to sleep, I lay in his arms thinking about what happened a few minutes ago. I remember when I was younger and I was bullied in school for being gay. I dreamt that a cute older classmate would protect me from my torturers and rescue me, but no one ever came. After I was bashed, when my parents didn’t visit me even though I was almost killed, I hoped every day that a handsome doctor or nurse would take care of me and heal me, but I remained alone until the day I stepped out of that hospital. When I started hustling and Carlos beat the shit out of me because I didn’t make enough money, I dreamt some cute client would fall in love with me and offer me another life, but that never happened.

Today, I’ve finally accepted the fact that no one will rescue me. I’m all I have. There’s no point dreaming of a different life with this man, because it won’t happen. Instead, I’ll keep this wonderful night locked in my memory where I can treasure it forever. I wish I could take something to remind me of him, something to be sure I never forget his face. My gaze wanders to the office on the other side of the hotel room, on which are spread several sheets of paper and a few pencils. God, how long how long has it been since I’ve drawn something, let alone someone? I don’t think I’ve even tried again since my hand was crippled from the bashing. I hated the feeling of not controlling my hand anymore; it scared the shit out of me. I used to think I could never live without my art, but eventually I survived. I can’t say I don’t occasionally miss it, but I’ve accepted the fact that I will never be an artist. But seeing this beautiful man sprawled across the bed makes me want to immortalize this moment. Maybe I could try again. I mean, I control my hand much better than I used to… it wouldn’t kill me to try. 

I gently free myself from his arms and walk to the other side of the room. As I fumble through the mess of pens, coins and papers on his desk, I notice his wallet laying on the office desk. But I’m not even tempted. I may be a hustler, but I’m certainly not a thief. I grab a piece of paper and a pencil and settle in a comfortable leather chair in front of the bed. Familiar feelings flood through my body as the pencil hits the paper… the feeling of the wooden pencil against my hand, the scratch of the pencil on the sheet of paper…

My stroke isn’t as subtle as it used to be, but the sensations I feel as the drawing starts to take shape on the sheet are incredible. Whereas the first draft was pretty gross, I add details little by little until about an hour later the sketch has finally reached its final version. It’s certainly not one of my best pieces, but it feels good to be able to draw again, even if I’ve lost some of my skills. I’m so fucking proud of this sketch. It may sound a bit corny but it sorts of symbolizes my victory. Yes, my victory over fucking Chris Hobbes. And this battle I’ve won alone, the credit is mine only.

After scrutinizing his slender body sprawled in front of me for more than an hour, I am finally convinced that I will remember every inch of his body, every curve, every beauty spot, and every dimple. I won’t need this sketch to remind me. I’m sure I’ll never forget, no matter how much time passes. I leave the portrait on the pillow beside Brian, since I’ll carry it in my heart always. If it can make him remember me just a little, it’s definitely worth the sacrifice. 

I get dressed as silently I can, dreading a confrontation. I want to make this as easy as possible, and I never was really good at saying goodbye anyway. As I close the hotel door behind me, I finally allow the tears to flow, not giving a fuck about the puzzled look of the doorman. I cry for this man I’ve lost because of my “disgusting life style,” I cry for the life I wish I could have, and because I know it’s impossible. I cry because the future seems very dark for me right now.


	3. Pretty Boy

Justin’s POV

 

I’ve been locked up in my room for three days, avoiding the incessant banging on the door. My body freezes every time I hear the footsteps getting closer, and then Carlos’s deep voice yelling. I take refuge in the furthest corner of the decrepit room and pray he won’t smash through the already tottering door. I know I can’t keep going on like this. If Carlos doesn’t hear from me very soon, I’ll be in serious trouble. But I just can’t seem to get back to work since that fucking night. All I can do is sit on my bed, tirelessly drawing his face over and over. At least something positive has come out of this experience… I’ve recovered my ability to draw. And the quality of my drawings has clearly improved. I think I might have recovered all my artistic skills.

Dozens of portraits of him in every imaginable position are spread across my bed. His face seems to be permanently etched in my memory, so much so that it’s preventing me from working. But the situation is becoming problematic. Carlos is very close to tearing me a new asshole, and I know that I can’t stay hidden in this room forever. One day I’m going to have to gather my strength and step out.

My heart skips a beat when I hear footsteps coming closer. I pick up all the drawings and hastily shove them in the bedside table, then move into the kitchen area looking for a weapon of some kind. The only thing I see is a dirty frying pan. The footsteps stop at our door, followed by the sound of a key being inserted in the lock. I step back a few feet, trying to find a way to escape the room, but the only exit is a ridiculously small window. I move back until I hit the wall and hold my breath. The door slowly opens, and I recognize Hunter’s face just as I’m about to bang the intruder on the head with the frying pan.

“Fuck you scared the shit out of me,” I gasp.

“You’re such a drama queen” he chuckles.

He throws his worn out coat on the bed and takes a couple of hundred dollar bills out of his jean pocket.

“Look, rent money,” he states, as he shoves the bills under my nose.

I feel guilty for not working these past couple of days. He certainly didn’t ask any questions or make any complaints, but I know that he had to work his ass even harder to make up for what I didn’t bring in.

“You know, Hunter, thanks for covering my ass. I haven’t being feeling great lately,” I apologize guiltily.

“No problem, Jus. But what exactly is going on? You know you can talk to me. I thought you trusted me,” he says questioningly.

“I do Hunter, I do. But I don’t really feel like talking about it. I just needed a break,” I sigh.

“You know what would cheer you up?” 

“What?” I answer, clueless.

“Pizzaaaaaaaaa,” he yells.

I can’t help but laugh at him. There’s something about this kid. No matter how shitty life can be, he always finds pleasure in the smallest things. I don’t really feel like going out, but my empty stomach is demanding to be fed, so I agree to pizza. We head towards Joe’s Pizzeria, a small restaurant five minutes away from Hollywood Boulevard. I try to hide under the hood of my coat…wouldn’t want Carlos to recognize me. I wave hello to a couple of guys working the Boulevard. After three years, I’ve become a regular. I know most of the guys who work here, and Hunter and I even work on our own star on the Boulevard. 

A few minutes later we finally get to the pizza place, which is crowded with hustlers chatting and laughing. You could almost believe that they are just a bunch of teenagers having a slice after school. We grab a stool at the counter and order two slices. Although it only costs 3 bucks, the pizza tastes incredibly good. But then again, since I’ve only had crackers for the last 3 days, anything would probably taste like gourmet food. We nibble on our pizza, gulping a couple of beers and chit-chatting a bit. Hunter was right; going out did cheer me up a little. I am lucky to have found a real friend around here. Honestly, without him I don’t know if I would have survived. He can make me laugh and cheer me up when I’m at my lowest, and he’s always around when I need a friend. 

When we finally step out of the pizza place a half an hour later, my bad mood has magically vanished. We start walking back to our place, but Hunter stops at the Roy Rogers star. 

“What are you doing?” I question him, although I know perfectly well what’s happening.

“Working, duh… Careful Sunshine, you’re starting to sound like a blonde” he answers sarcastically .

“No, go home. You’ve worked enough today. I’ll handle it.”

I really don’t feel like working tonight but no way am I letting Hunter take another client. I give him a quick peck on the cheek and send him on his way. I take off my leather jacket and throw it over my shoulder. If I want to find a client quickly, I’d better show some skin. I get closer to the street so that the drivers can check me out. I unconsciously scrutinize the Boulevard searching for a green Corvette, but I doubt he’ll come around here again. Just as I spot a potential client in a black Mercedes, I feel a strong hand grab me from behind. I don’t even need to turn around; I know who the muscular arms around my waist and neck belong to. He has a very particular scent… a mixture of sweat, beer and filth. My heart starts racing and bile starts rising in my throat. I don’t have to be a genius to know that I’m in for a rough time.

“So, Sunshine… I thought you were sick,” he snarls, his voice full of anger.

“I was,” I manage to mumble.

“Then if you’re sick, why the fuck are you peddling your ass on Hollywood Boulevard? Are you sure you’re not trying to swindle me?” he asks me, purposely cranking down on my throat until I can barely breathe. He drags me to an isolated alley and throws me against the wall. I want to curl up into a ball, dreading what’s about to come.

I’ve suffered Carlos’ beatings before, and although I’ve learnt to lessen the damage by protecting certain areas of my body, like my ribs and my chest, I still usually end up in pretty bad shape. I let myself slide to the ground, knowing the punches will hurt less that way. I wince as his foot connects with my side and clench my teeth, trying not to scream. Crying and begging only pisses him off even more. The only way to get through this is to lie still until the beating finally stops. He grabs me by my worn out T-shirt, lifting me off the ground. I let out a sigh of relief, thinking maybe he’s done with me for tonight, but instead of letting me go he shoves me hard against the brick wall. I let out a cry of pain as the back of my head bangs against the brick. My knees weaken and I’m about to collapse to the ground, but Carlos’ grip on my shirt prevents that from happening.

From this moment, on everything seems to occur in slow motion. His fist connecting repeatedly with my stomach, the excruciating pain as my head hits the brick wall… the pain is so intense, I feel like I’ve left my body and am watching myself being beaten from a distance. I wonder if that’s what happens when you die; if you free yourself from your corpse but can still see, still feel the outside world. After a few minutes (or maybe hours, I really don’t know), the kicks and punches stop. When I open my eyes, Carlos is gone. The beatings are never very harsh. Carlos wouldn’t want to permanently damage his principal source of income, but still this time he wasn’t kind. I stand up, using the wall as a support, and brush the dust off my jeans. I need a mirror to inspect the damage. If the bruises are visible, there’s no point in trying to work tonight, I won’t pick up anyone. Clients get freaked out by any signs of fighting. They don’t want trouble, so they just pass on by.

I notice reddish stains on my white T-shirt and realize my nose is bleeding. I decide to go home, at least to change out of my filthy clothes. Some of the boys send me compassionate glances as I limp down Hollywood Boulevard. The beatings are part of the job. Whether it’s coming from the pimp, or the twisted clients, it’s hard to avoid them. I don’t really care about the bruises; I’m just pissed because I won’t be able to work for a couple of days. As I painfully climb the two flights of stairs, I curse Hunter for not living in an apartment with an elevator. When I finally manage to get to our door, I’m so tired I almost pass out. Unable to find the strength to pull out my keys, I bang on the door a couple of times until Hunter finally opens it. One look at Hunters face as he gets a glimpse of me leads me to suspect that the view is not a nice one.

“Oh, my God! What happened to you?” he asks in a shocked voice.

“Carlos,” I mumble, the pain in my head making it hard for me to speak.

“That mother fucker! Here, come in,” he says, shifting my weight onto his shoulder.

I go straight to the mirror to assess the damages. As I suspected, my face is free of bruises but the back of my head hurts like hell. On the other hand, the bruises on my ribs and chest will be hard to hide. I curse Carlos as I walk through the room and gingerly lie down on my bed. I should have known that was going to happen. Hunter and I have been talking about going out on our own, but Carlos won’t let go of two of his best moneymakers go without a fight. If I really wanted to change my life, I know I could just run away. I really doubt Carlos would follow me. But as Hunter always says, to go where? This place, this apartment is the closest thing I’ve had to a home since I ran away. I spent years putting this together; I can’t just throw it away. 

These are my final thoughts as my eyes begin to close. But as I drift away to sleep, I force my eyes open again. Withdrawing my latest portrait of Brian from the nightstand, I scrupulously study it to imprint his face in my memory before I drift off to sleep. And for these few seconds before I slip into the unconscious, I feel serene and happy because I know I’ll be meeting Brian in a few seconds… in my dreams.

Brian’s POV

I have just had the shittiest week end ever. It started off well, but then things seemed to get out of hand. I woke up on saturday morning in a rare good mood, first because of the thought of fucking my little angel’s brains out, and second because I planned to ask Justin to stay here for a week. I really enjoyed him…not just the sex; he was also a very good company. So imagine my surprise when I realized that the blond twink had left without a word. And since then not only have I endured a permanent boner, but the little brat has been invading my thoughts all day long.

I had four important meetings saturday, two of which I had to cancel because I wasn’t in the right state of mind to give a proper presentation. So there I was, in my hotel room, pathetically trying to get some work done when all I could think about was him, staring at this fucking portrait he drew of me. His presence, his scent was everywhere in the damn room. I even had to ask the cleaning lady to come and make up the room because the cum stains on the sheets kept reminding me of last night, and I couldn’t think about anything other than our little sexual marathon.  
So after three days of moping around in my room , barely eating, and not getting any work done although the amount of work piling up on my desk is becoming ridiculous, I decided to take measures.

I know exactly what I need to release all this built up frustration - a quick, hard fuck. I noticed one of the masseurs checking me out at the hotel health center this morning. I could really use a full body massage. But every time I close my eyes the image that pops into my mind is Justin on all fours, eyes rolled back, mouth open… I mean our last fuck was extraordinary, at least one of my top ten fucks, and I’m not exaggerating. No wonder it keeps popping up at the most inopportune times. It doesn’t really mean anything. As I said, he’s a great fuck, so there’s nothing surprising about the fact that I’d like to do him again. And anyway, my no-repeats rule wouldn’t apply to him - he’s a hustler…

So, I’ve finally admitted that I want him again, but the question is how do I find him? First, I try to think of someone that could have seen him leaving my room. I exclude the cleaning staff and the receptionists straight away; first, because it probably was very early in the morning when he left and second, because I doubt they pay much attention to the comings and goings. Suddenly, a light bulb goes on in my head. When Justin left my room this morning, he inevitably used the elevator, which means the elevator operator probably saw him.

Not even bothering to put on shoes, I step out of my room and rush to the elevator. I press the button impatiently, waiting for the doors to open. When the elevator finally reaches my floor, I lean between the silver doors, preventing them from closing. The operator gives me a puzzled look as I withdraw a 20 dollar bill from my pocket.

“I need a piece of information. Do you think you could help me?” I ask, waving the 20 dollar bill under his nose.

“Yes, sir! How may I help you?” he replies, a little too obligingly.

“Did you see someone come out of my room saturday morning at approximately 6 am on? Blonde, average height, pretty young?” I inquire.

“Ah yes, I saw him leave your room early. Great ass, by the way,” he comments as he flashes me a smile I’ve seen too often. Funny, my gay-dar didn’t spot this one. Well, good, he’ll probably be more eager to help since we bat for the same team.

“Yes, exactly. You know where I can find him?” I ask.

“I’m not sure, sir, but I’d guess Hollywood Boulevard,” he answers in condescending way that really pisses me off. 

“Okay, thanks,” I sneer back as I toss the bill to him.

Returning to the room, I fumble through the shit that is spread across my desk, looking for my car keys. Tossing on a leather jacket that I know I look good in, I head out in direction of Hollywood Boulevard. 

Hunter’s POV

After Justin finally fell asleep, I grabbed my duffle coat and exited the dilapidated room. I consider trying to find Carlos and beating the shit out of him for a few minutes, but what good could come out of that? I curse the day Carlos crossed my path. Life would be so much easier without a pimp. And I feel so guilty for letting Carlos take Justin under his wing. But as much as I’d like to kill the bastard right now, I know there’s nothing I can do. The smart thing to do is work all night and earn the rent money, so we still have a roof over our heads tomorrow morning. So I drag my feet up to the Boulevard and get my ass to work. 

Justin and I have our own private spot on Hollywood Boulevard. We work from the Don Ameche star all the way up to Roy Rogers. One might not think that is an important distinction, but there are very clear and well defined rules up here. If you don’t know exactly what portion of the Boulevard belongs to whom, you’re screwed. That’s how I met Justin. He was getting his butt kicked by two regulars for peddling his ass on somebody else’s territory. I felt sorry for him, and I took him in because he reminded me of the poor, frightened kid I was when I first set down here. Explained all the rules, gave him a place to sleep, explained about all the tricks. What do to and what not to do with clients, and to always use condoms.

I think it was particularly hard for him since he had never been officially out, and he didn’t have much sexual experience. I think it’s safe to say that if I hadn’t been here, things might not have turned so well for him. Somehow, though, I doubt I really did him a favor. Now we both are stuck in this shithole…

As the days went by, I learned to appreciate him, even to trust him, something I hadn’t done for a long time, and when he was around life didn’t seem so shitty. I found a real friend in him and I’m proud to be worthy of his trust. Since the day he stepped foot on Hollywood Boulevard, I promised to protect him and look after him. And that why I’m freaking out since he spent the night with that guy in the Corvette. He’s been acting, I dunno… weird. Something changed that night, but I can’t seem to find what. If that asshole hurt one hair on my little angel’s head, I promise I’ll kill him.

He seemed so peaceful when he finally fell asleep, like he was finally relaxing for the first time in days. I knew we desperately needed the money; the landlord doesn’t tolerate lateness as far as the rent money is concerned. But I couldn’t wake him up. He’s seemed so depressed, so down these last few days, I didn’t have the heart to pull him out of his sweet euphoria. So although I’d already done 4 clients today, I grabbed my leather jacket and headed out to Hollywood Boulevard. 

As I watch the cars pass by, I wonder if Justin and I will ever get out of this shit. It seems we’ve gotten used to it, like in a kind of weird, fucked up way it has become our home. I know I blame Justin for being an idealist but sometimes I too, dream of getting the fuck out of here. Just the two of us, in an old Corvette on the road. God, that would be neat. But before we can leave, I need to make enough money to meet our needs. To just run away without a dime would be suicidal. 

So here I am on Hollywood Boulevard, checking out the men in their fancy cars looking for a piece of young boy ass. Speaking of which, I notice a familiar Corvette hurtling down the Boulevard. The car stops even with me with a screeching sound and a handsome brunette opens the window. No need to put on the hustler mode, something tells me that this cutie won’t be fucking my ass tonight.

“What do you want,” I bark. Something makes me distrust this man. I know that he has something to do with Justin’s low mood these past days.

“I’m looking for someone who was here a couple of nights ago, a blonde. Have you seen him?” he replies in a gentle tone.

“Maybe… why do you want to see him?” I demand, still a little reticent.

“I have a proposal for him,” he answers, apparently not put off by my attitude.

“What kind of proposal?” I inquire grudgingly.

“One that would make his life much easier around here. If you are a real friend to him, you’ll tell me where to find him.”

I might be a lot of things, but I’m certainly not a bad friend. If this man can do Justin some good, than I’ll put my disbelief aside. I take out a pen of my jeans and scribble our apartment address on an old bus ticket, which I toss through the car window. Something tells me that I should feel threatened by this man, that he has a place in Justin’s existence that I will never occupy, and that makes me feel sad…

Brian’s POV

Fuck, I thought that kid was never going to tell me where to find him. It makes me feel sick, to know that he’s so close but that I can’t hold him, can’t touch him… but I will soon, I think, as I race through the streets of Los Angeles. I know I’m speeding, but I can’t wait a moment longer to touch his soft, warm skin, to inhale his sweet scent. We’ve only been apart a day, but I feel like I’ve been longing for his touch for years. And to imagine he’ll be in my arms in a few minutes makes me feel a little dizzy.

I have a flicker of concern about leaving the Corvette alone in this neighbourhood, but nothing could keep me away a minute longer. I run up to the second flour, climbing the stairs two by two, until I finally reach the shabby door numbered 207. I hold my breath as I knock on the door, imploring my heart to beat less loudly. The repetitive sound of my heart thumping against my chest is driving me mad, making me unable to concentrate on anything other than the stress I’m feeling, standing here so vulnerable, so open…

I hear footsteps slowly approaching the door, and at last hear the creak of the door opening. My eyes are greeted by the beautiful sight of a half-naked Justin with tousled hair and sleepy eyes. As I let my eyes graze over my beautiful blonde angel’s perfect figure, something immediately strikes me as wrong. A few seconds later, I notice that his soft skin is no longer pale but is scattered with darkening bruises. I clench my fist until my fingernails dig into my palm, to keep myself from punching the brick wall. I need to do something to release my tension. The thought of him being hurt brings up a lot of feelings that I have a hard time processing: fear for him, guilt, anger... and the best way to regain control seems to hit something or someone. But I am not my father, I’m not Jack… 

I control myself as I catch a glance at the embarrassed look on his face. I know that look well enough to understand what this kid is feeling. One may say I’m a specialist in the matters of beatings. When my dad beat me up, I was so ashamed of myself that I didn’t even dare come out of my room until the bruises had faded. It might sound stupid now: to feel ashamed for someone else’s neurosis, but at the time I felt somehow responsible for my dad’s attitude. I wish someone had held out their hand during that period, but I remained irreparably alone. I think it was that sense of loneliness, more than the bruises themselves, that hurt me the most. It’s funny how much this kid and I are alike, and not just because we’re both gay but because underneath the walls, the barriers we’ve both built up resides a frightened, hurt kid that wants nothing more than to be loved. But neither of us wants to acknowledge it. From now on, I’ve decided that this kid has suffered enough, there will be no more beatings, no more peddling his ass on the streets, no more pain, no more, bruises, no more tears... 

I was pretty lucky, I ended up pretty well. I mean, I have a roof over my head, a good job, I dine in the best restaurants. But what makes me fundamentally different from this kid? We probably had the same kind of childhood, I’m certainly not more intelligent than him, not better looking. So why does he have to peddle his ass to survive while I work in one of the best ad agencies in the country? What is the difference? In my opinion, nothing. I could be in his place and he could be in mine. So maybe in order to thank the fates for being kind to me, I’ll give this kid a hand. I don’t consider myself a fucking social worker, but I’m not doing this from pure generosity either. As I said, the kid’s a wonderful fuck and he’ll keep me company while I’m in L.A. 

I try to quiet the small voice in my head telling me that I’ve let this kid take too much importance in my life already, but for now all I can think about is the joy I feel at being close to him again, the feelings of safety, of comfort I feel when I’m with him. For once, I’ll let my heart guide my actions and not my brain. I’ll do what I feel is right, and not just what could be profitable to me.

I hope he feels at least a little bit of what I’m feeling… I’m not sure, but I think he does.  
Something this strong, this good can only be mutual. I just wish he would fucking say something instead of standing there, frozen. Just give me a sign Justin, for God’s sake, give me a sign…

Justin’s POV

What the fuck is he doing here????????


	4. Pretty Boy

JUSTIN’S POV

Fuck, is he really standing here in front of me? I want to pinch myself to make sure I’m not dreaming, but I don’t want to look any more foolish. I don’t know what to do, don’t know what to say… What is he doing here? We both stand still and silent, waiting for the other to say something. After several minutes of a very tense silence, he finally breaks the ice.

“Why did you leave this morning?” he asks tightly.

The answer is so obvious, it almost makes me laugh. Maybe the excellent sex made him forget I am actually a hustler. Once I’ve done my job, I leave - that’s the deal. But this man doesn’t seem to want to play by the same rules as everybody else.

“I assumed my services were no longer required,” I answer sarcastically.

“Well, you assumed wrong,” he answers, a little pissed. Good, my little scheme to make him see the reality of our situation is having the desired effect. Somehow, though, I doubt he’s enjoying the game. Well, that’s the point of it… to get him to leave as soon as possible.

“Who did this to you?” he inquires, pointing to my bruised body.

“Didn’t you know? I’m into kink,” I spit back at him.

The words seem to burn my throat as I say them. I was never very good at hurting people, especially the ones I love. But this is for his own good. As much as I’d like him to stay, as much as I’d like him to hold me tight in his arms tonight, I have to do what’s in our best interest. And becoming infatuated with a rich and handsome Ad executive doesn’t seem in my best interest. We’re both better off alone. We’re no good for each other. I’m no good for anyone…

“Don’t do this,” he warns me.

I want to answer “Do what?” but that would be insulting both his and my intelligence. So instead, I look away from his inquisitive glare. I want to run, run as far as I can, run away from this man I can foresee will be my ruin. But I don’t have the strength to do it, I don’t have the strength to run away from him a second time. But I also don’t have the guts to tell him to stay. There’s too much at stake; I have too much to lose to gamble my whole life on a passing fancy. So I’ll stay here, still and silent, until he gets sick of waiting for me, sick of me being such a coward…

“If you don’t know what you want, Justin, I can’t do anything for you” he states flatly while turning around. Oh, my God… he’s getting ready to walk away…

I remember a time when I was young and full of dreams, when I would have pursued, even stalked the man I loved until he finally gave in. I remember how that kid was naïve and innocent but also joyful and courageous. I must acknowledge that that kid no longer exists. That kid was a part of me, of my soul, and it was stolen from me. Maybe this is my chance to get him back; maybe this is my chance to prove to that kid that he still can have a life. Maybe, for once, I’ll have the fucking guts to take the risk. Because no matter what happens, no matter how much more pain and suffering that poor kid has to endure, I also know he’s strong enough to get back up and go on. That kid never would have let this beautiful and sexy man run away, so maybe for once I’ll listen to my inner voice.

I reach out, catching Brian by the shoulder. He impassively acknowledges my hand’s presence, but he still doesn’t turn back. However, the heat radiating from his body tells me that he isn’t completely indifferent. Finally, after a few seconds that feel like an eternity, he turns around and faces me, his piercing eyes burning through my flesh, reaching right to my very heart.

It’s funny - I always thought his eyes were hazel, but in fact they are sprinkled with light touches of green. I seem to be discovering new facets to him as time goes on. My heart pounds in my chest and my legs weaken as we stare into each other’s eyes. He can hide all his emotions behind his blank façade, but his eyes betray him. While his face remains emotionless, his eyes display all the lust, all the desire he is feeling. And quite frankly, I’m overwhelmed by what I read there. I’m not really sure what a man like him would want with a boy like me. But I won’t overanalyze, I won’t ruin this moment with negative thoughts. I’ll just let myself be swept away by this man.

I take a step towards him, shortening the distance between us. I reach up, letting my hands wander in his silky auburn hair. It smells so fucking good, a blend of kiwi and coconut. It reminds me of the time I flew to the West Indies with my parents. It’s funny, but all our problems seemed to vanish in the heat of the tropical sun and the white sand.

I kiss his throat, trying to get a taste of his cologne. The scent is musky yet sweet, a bit like him I guess…My teeth nibble on the soft skin of his neck, alternatively licking and biting until the tanned flesh becomes red. I love the idea of marking him, branding him, letting myself believe he is only mine. And at least for tonight, he is only mine…

I feel his strong hands grab a handful of my hair and pull my mouth away from his neck. The pull is strong yet sexy as he is not in conscious control of his movements, as if his hands, his feet, his teeth are only responding to pure and carnal desire... Looking at me with lust in his eyes, he crushes his raspberry lips on mine, taking possession of what is his, only his. He dives his tongue deep into my mouth, licking the inside of my teeth, our tongues dueling for power. He moans into my mouth and the sound goes straight to my groin.

My hard, throbbing dick is rubbing against his thigh. I desperately want him to rip my clothes off and fuck the shit out of me right here, right now, but I have fleeting fear that Hunter could come home at any minute. We both agreed to keep the apartment client free, so he’d be seriously pissed at me if he barged in right now. I should stop this before it gets out of control, I should…but I won’t. I’ll take the chance of getting my ass kicked; I don’t have the willpower to stop what’s going on here anyway. I‘ve been waiting too long to feel his dick inside me again, and I won’t wait a minute longer. 

I rip his leather jacket off his shoulders and slip my hands under his wife beater, dying to feel some skin. He has the most perfect body, toned in all the right places yet slender and smooth. I pull his shirt over his head and bury my face in his smooth chest. I can’t believe I almost let him leave a few minutes ago. How could I ever refuse this man anything? He is a living god, and I am his acolyte. And there will be a lot of worshiping as far as he is concerned tonight. I promise…

Remembering our last night together, I take his right nipple in my mouth and suck the sensitive little bud until I feel it harden. I took notes the last time we fucked - the things he liked, the things he loved, the things that drove him completely insane. As if I knew unconsciously that this couldn’t be the last time, that there had to be a repeat. His head tips back and his jaw falls open. Incoherent sounds flood out of his mouth, but mixed in I still intermittently hear the sound of my name.

As I rip the zipper of his jeans open and drop them to his ankles, I notice that he still isn’t wearing any underwear. I won’t complain; I don’t think I could have handled fighting through another layer of clothing to reach his cock. I notice it is already fully erect and pulsating. I let out a chuckle, surprised by his evident arousal.

“Don’t laugh,” he groans, “it’s been in this state since you left.”

I flash him one of my famous smiles, guaranteed to make any normal guy melt, and then drop to my knees. But before I hit the ground, I feel a pair of muscular arms stopping me. I look up at him, a confused look on my face.

“I’m well aware of your oral skills,” he states, referring to last nights blow-job, “but trust me, if your mouth gets anywhere near my dick, I’ll be cumming in no time flat. There’s no need to get me ready, I’ve been waiting for you all day long. You, on the other hand, are still wearing too many clothes for my taste,” he teases as he pulls my worn t-shirt over my head. My jeans and underwear come off in no time flat and end up scattered across the room, evidence of our desire.

We’re both naked now, desperately rubbing and grinding our bodies together, wanting more, much more. But that would mean breaking contact, which would be unbearable, even if only for an instant. Brian’s hands start to roam all over my body as his lips remain sealed to mine. First, they gently massage the pale skin of my shoulders, relieving the pent up tension, then knead my back all along my spine, carefully avoiding the darkening bruises. My body relaxes to his expert touch and the mad rush of a few minutes ago gives way to a slower and more relaxed pace.

His fingers travel down my body like little soldiers whose aim is only to pleasure me all night long. When they finally settle between my ass cheeks, I let out a moan, urging them on. His fingertips graze my twitching hole over and over until I’m bucking against his hand. When his middle finder finally slips into my waiting hole, my knees start to tremble and the weight of my body seems too heavy for my legs to bear. I search for support, desperately clutching Brian with all my strength. He senses my weakness and lifts me up, carrying me to the door.

He slams me against the door, and I wrap my legs around his waist. The position is hot as hell. I’m not touching the ground; I am trapped between the wooden door and Brian’s body. I squeeze my legs, forcing my heels into his ass, telling him to come closer. He wraps his arms around my shoulders as I bury my face in the crook of his neck. I nibble on the soft flesh, while he vainly tries to get back to fingering me. But this position doesn’t allow him to free his hands and his movements are limited by the weight of my body. He looks heatedly at me, then examines the room, trying to find a more comfortable place to fuck than against the door.

“Where?” he inquires. He doesn’t need to say more, because I understand immediately. He’s asking me where I want to fuck. The bed appears to be the best option, but it seems miles away. I scan the rest of the room, but nothing seems close enough. Finally, I glance down at the wooden floor, certainly not the most comfortable option, but definitely the closest. I nod down and Brian slowly bends his knees as we both cautiously drop to the floor. Brian’s body is heavy on me, and feeling the uncomfortable wooden floor against my bruises is agonizing, but I’m much too lost in the moment to try to shift positions. I feel Brian’s fingers find their way back to where they belong … inside me…and I let out loud moan as he stretches me with his finger. Brian hears my groan and glances at me with a look I have trouble deciphering. I want to keep it down, I swear I’m trying, but I can’t control the sounds that pour out of my mouth. I bite my lips as hard as I can to silence myself.

“Don’t stop, please, I love that you are loud,” he assures me.

I let out a sigh of relief. I don’t think I could have stopped the moans even if I wanted to. He pushes his middle finder deeper inside me and gently rubs the tip against my swollen prostate. The intense sensation makes my body buck and I let out a yelp as he slides across the engorged gland over and over. Fuck, I can’t believe he gotten me so fucking hard with one finger. How can something so small give me so much fucking pleasure? A few seconds later, a second finger joins the first. He twists his hand, changing the angle of penetration of his fingers, causing my eyes to roll back. I’m in this strangely intense place between extreme pleasure and unconsciousness. It feels so fucking good I’m afraid that I’m going to pass out. As he finally pushes in a third finger, my body goes into overdrive. My sight becomes clouded, my heart skips a beat (if not three) and my head falls back, banging against the hard floor. I let out a yelp as my bruised head connects with the wooden flooring. I instinctively reach up to rub the soreness away, but Brian moves my hand and kisses the sore spot.

“Here, let’s switch positions so you don’t end up at the hospital,” he suggests, tongue in cheek.

I lay still, letting him decide how we’re going to fuck, and I feel the heat spread through my groin as he flips me onto my hands and knees. I love that position. There’s something about it that’s definitely animalistic, carnal. And to feel Brian’s body surrounding me, engulfing me is the hugest turn-on ever. His fingers, driven away from my ass while we switched positions, are now roaming all over my back and shoulders. I transfer more weight onto my forearms and stick my ass up, encouraging him to get back to it. He chuckles softly, understanding my silent plea. 

“Where’s the lube and condoms?” he whispers seductively in my ear.

I nod towards the bedside table and involuntarily groan as our skins break contact. I get a look at his amazing ass as he stands up and heads towards my bed. With an ass like that, he must be a great bottom. I wish I could plunge my cock in his hole just once. I bet it would be so warm and so tight... ‘Shit, Taylor get a grip,’ I silently order myself. That certainly isn’t going to happen any time soon.

The whole world freezes as I glance at Brian opening the top drawer of the bedside table. Suddenly, everything comes back to me in a violent flash and I remember the dozens of portraits of Brian I hastily shoved in the top drawer only a few hours ago. Fuck, Fuck, Fuck…

 

BRIAN’S POV

I fumble through all the shit that is accumulated in the drawer of his bedside table, my fingers searching for lube. But instead of feeling the plastic bottle, my fingertips graze sheets of paper. I take them out of the drawer to hurry my search for the lube, glancing quickly at them as I toss them on the bed. I swear I didn’t even realize they were portraits of me when I first saw them. But the moment my gaze falls on the pencil sketches, a familiar feeling jolts through me. I can’t describe it. It’s the exact same emotion I experienced when I found his sketch laying on my pillow. His work evokes such intensity, such emotion. As if all the joy and all the pain he ever felt has culminated in the moment immortalized in this one sketch. The first time I set eyes on the portrait he drew of me, I hated it. The expression on my face reflects such meanness and heartlessness; it pains me to realize that is what he thinks of me. But as I look at the sketch more in detail, I realize the fear, the pain that emanates from his piece is not the reflection of what he thinks of me, but rather the reflection of what he thinks of us.

The kid was scared shitless of what he felt, of what was going to happen between us. His fear of being hurt is so intense it paralyzes him, prevents him from moving on, from being happy. I was pleasantly surprised when I was saw his first piece of art, but frankly right now I’m astounded. He is so fucking talented; I can’t believe someone so gifted is living in a shithole like this instead of exhibiting his art. I’m so captivated by the sensuality, the raw emotions that emerge from his art, that I momentarily forget my hard cock and the blond angel panting in the middle of the room. I know better than to ask why there are dozens of portraits of me stashed in his bedside table. Pushing too hard will only freak him out, and I don’t want to ruin our fuck; I’ve waited for it, needed it for too long.

I drop the portraits onto the bed and get back to searching for the lube. This time, I find the small bottle and the rubbers almost immediately. I get back on my knees behind him and squeeze a generous amount of lube on my fingers. I push three fingers in roughly and he bucks back at my hand. I fast forward the foreplay. I’ve kissed, licked, and sucked every inch of his body and now it’s time to fuck him. Considering the way he’s bucking against my palm, impossibly trying to dive my fingers deeper, I think he couldn’t agree more. 

I position my cock at his entrance and teasingly rub the head against his quivering hole. I know he won’t be able stand it very much longer, but I want him to beg. I give minuscule jabs, letting him think I’m penetrating but really backing off. After three or four mini thrusts, I think his head is going to explode and I know the pleading is going to start. Indeed, it only takes a few seconds. 

“Brian,” he cries in a deep, needy voice.

“Yes?” I answer playfully, tongue in cheek. I love to see him lose control and squirm, beg, plead. It’s fucking hot…

Still hesitant to tell me his needs, he bucks his hips at me trying to impale himself on my cock. But I won’t let him have his way. Instead, I steady his hips with my hands. I’m driving him mad, I know it, but it feels fucking good. I can see his tight hole twitching, anticipating the moment when my wide cock will finally thrust in. Fuck, I can almost feel the tightness surrounding my dick. Just thinking about his velvet channel makes my cock jerk. How he manages to stay so tight is a mystery, especially since he must fuck at least… I don’t let my mind wander very far in that direction. I’m desperately trying to forget all the other men fucking him. I want him to be just mine and this feeling, this need to possess him is scaring the shit out of me.

I never was one to espouse monogamy, always thought it was reserved for munchers and heteros. But subconsciously I love the fact that I’m going to be the only one to fuck him for a while. Having his cute little ass for a whole week, just for me… what else could a fag ask for?

JUSTIN’S POV

I can’t stand it a minute longer. I swear, I’m using every fucking ounce of self restraint I possess, but this is more than I can handle. I’m taking control of the situation this very second. I violently buck my hips at him, making him lose his balance and land flat on his ass. Perfect, this is the ideal position for what I was planning. Not giving him the time to realize what I’m doing, I flip around, positioning myself right above his pulsating member. I look over my shoulder and give him my hottest smile as I slowly impale myself on his cock. Fuuuuuuuck, that feels good. That’s what he gets for messing with me; now he has no other option but to lay back and enjoy. I’m taking charge right now.

I playfully torture the head of his cock, squeezing and clenching my hole around it. As I repeat the move, he lets out an amazingly loud moan. Does he have a clue how hot he is, face flushed, mouth open, eyes rolled back, desperately trying to control the sounds coming out of his mouth? Unable to control the situation, he settles for exploring my body with his hands. His palms roam over every inch of my body before finally wrapping around my dick. He tugs on the smooth flesh a few times and my legs weaken, involuntarily impaling me fully on his cock, overwhelming me with the sensations flooding through my body. I feel his cock graze my prostate and aim my hips to hit the same sweet spot again and again. I bite my lips not to scream, but a keening groan still manages to escape.

This position is so hot! I’m basically sitting in his lap, raising and lowering myself with my knees. One arm is wrapped around my chest, holding me so close I can actually feel his heart pounding against my back. His other hand roams across my back, acknowledging the presence of the bruises by softly caressing them, making me feel better thanks to his gentle touch. I wonder what I have done to deserve this man. To deserve the extraordinary sensation I feel when I’m close to him. And I’ve decided I won’t be scared anymore, I will no longer feel any fear. I’ll hold onto him, onto this, for as long as he lets me. And if it must end tomorrow, I will be glad to have met this man, to have experienced this feeling. Because even if it hurts, even if it’s hard, at least I fucking feel alive.

I hear his breathing speed up and feel his cock throbbing inside me. He’s ready to explode any second, but he’s waiting for me to come first. I sense the inevitable tingle in my groin spreading throughout my entire body. The heat that started in my stomach has moved down into my balls and is now spreading through my whole cock, finally culminating with a first gush of cum, followed quickly by a second shot. His hand closes around my dick, capturing my cum in his palm. My hole squeezes around his shaft, both drawing it in deeper and pushing it out. As I contract my ass around his dick as hard as I can, milking his cock, he finally lets himself go, and I feel the hot spurts of cum filling the condom to capacity. He collapses to the ground, dragging me along, our bodies landing on the wooden floor with a thump. I raise my hips a little to slide his cock out of my ass, but he stills me with his hands.

“Stay a little while,” he says in a low, seductive voice.

I lie back on his body, enjoying the feeling of his hands playing with my hair, gently massaging my scalp, making all the stress of the previous day magically disappear. After a few minutes, I gently pull myself off his shaft, discard the used condom and get up to fetch a towel to get us cleaned up. When I come back from the bathroom, I find him sitting on the edge of the bed, gazing at those fucking portraits again. I hope he doesn’t make a big deal out of it. 

“You’re very talented, you know,” he states, as if it were an obvious fact.

“Yeah, I’m a genius. That explains why I’m here peddling my ass instead of showing my pieces in a gallery,” I answer sarcastically.

“Well, I think your portraits are amazing… for what my opinion’s worth.”

The sweet compliment goes straight to my heart. I don’t really understand why, but for some reason his opinion is very important to me. 

“It’s worth a lot, at least to me,” I answer in a soft gentle tone, deciding to drop the hard-ass attitude. He flashes me his dazzling smile once again, and I swear you would move mountains for this man when he smiles. He doesn’t smile a lot. That’s probably what makes it so special.

“I’m sorry to kick you out,” I state in a somber tone, “but my roommate will be back any second, and you’re not really supposed to be here.”

“Come with me, back to the hotel?” he asks.

I pretend to ponder the proposition a few seconds, not wanting to seem too desperate. But in fact, I don’t need to think about it for even a second. I’d follow this man anywhere if he asked me to.

“I’ll pay you, don’t worry,” he adds, thinking that will tip the scale.

Little does he know, it’s not money I’m worried about. On the contrary, the situation would be much easier if there were no money involved. But it doesn’t matter, I’m determined to jump into this (whatever you call what we have - arrangement, proposal) without holding back. I’ll come with him tonight, tomorrow, for as long as he wants me. I don’t know what I’m starting, but something tells me in the end it will definitely be worth the ride


End file.
